One in the bed
by DanshiDerp
Summary: Ace can't get the first division commander off his mind, and so resorts to making good use of his rare privacy in his shared quarters. Ace self-loving, PWP.


"So its been how long? One, maybe two weeks since you stopped trying to kill the old man?"

"Fuck off, Thatch."

"And yet you're already having _this_ type of problem! Ah, to be young again."

"I said _fuck__ off_."

Thatch ignored him, laughing it off in his typical manner as Ace flushed red, averting his gaze from his nakama's face. "It's no big problem," he said with a grin, "it happens to the best of us at the worst possible times, as I'm sure you'll find out."

Ace snorted in sarcasm. "Oh really," he rolled his eyes, hating the feeling of his cheeks burning with embarrassment, "I'm sure all of you lot get..." He trailed off and frowned at the deck, unable to finish his sentence, to vocally address what had happened earlier that day.

"Well," Thatch scratched at his chin, "no, admittedly we don't all get boners over the first division commander when we see him in just his boxers. He's called Marco by the way," he added helpfully as Ace groaned in shame, "says he's named after the explorer Marco Polo, but I think it was the other way round. I take it he forgot to introduce himself by name."

The Fire Fist nodded and plonked his head into his hands, fingers curling in his hair as Thatch tried to tempt him with the bottle of rum he'd been carrying around like a precious child for the last hour and a half. Luckily for him, none of the crew members nearby seemed to have heard the content of their discussion, and Marco himself was nowhere in sight.

"What do I do?" He asked after a few moments of silence, his voice small and quiet as he looked up at his friend.

"It's just your hormones acting up; you're still a teenager, after all," the man said, clapping him on the shoulder and smiling away, "so all you need to do is get laid."

Ace spluttered, eyes going wide and colouring a deeper red. "You don't mean-?"

"Oh no, not with Marco," he laughed, waving his hand dismissively, "I don't imagine he'd be too thrilled to find you flinging yourself at him, or something similar. Just find someone nice on the next island we stop at, it'll make you feel a whole lot better. Or you could try giving yourself some loving while you think about him naked," he patted the younger pirate on the back as said pirate choked on his own saliva at the bluntness of Thatch's words, "whatever floats your boat."

They both jumped as Thatch's name was called by a booming voice; Curiel, the tenth division commander, stood on the other side of the deck, calling for him to come help him with a report they were meant to turn in together. He sighed lightly as he rose to his feet, patting Ace on the head affectionately as he left.

"I can get photos if you want them," he said over his shoulder with a nonchalant wave, "just ask and I'll see what I can do." He simply laughed merrily as he narrowly avoided the fireball that was hurled at his head with an embarrassed shriek from Ace.

[-]

He was careful with his timing that night, feigning sleep until the other members of the room he shared had moved up onto the deck, drinking away the evening with songs and laughter as was routine for them. The small cabin had five bunk-beds, sleeping ten members of the second division; only the commanders got a room to themselves. It certainly made things hard when any of the men needed a moment or two of peace and quiet, and Ace counted himself lucky to have found some alone time when he so desperately needed it.

He rolled onto his back from his side and sighed loudly, spreading his legs apart and feeling slightly ashamed as he felt his erection press against his body under his boxers, hot and tight without him even touching it yet. He glanced over to the door nervously, relaxing slightly as he saw that the other crew members had been kind enough to shut the door as well as turn the light off before leaving; since he had been taken onboard the Moby Dick, Ace hadn't dared touch himself in fear of being seen or heard by another crew member - it would be embarrassing to face them after that.

He relaxed, letting his mind wonder, prompted by what Thatch had said earlier.

Ace pictured the first division commander's tattooed chest above him, slicked with sweat and heaving with arousal. He imagined how his legs would look up close, whether they'd be thick with hair like Thatch's or smoother like his own, and how the muscles in them would work as they supported the blond man. He imagined how the muscles in his arms and shoulders would look under a dim lighting, whether they would cast long shadows or shorter ones, how they would ripple under the lightly tanned skin.

He sighed softly and trailed the fingers of one hand down his bare body slowly, teasing the skin with feather-light touches until he reached the waistband of his boxers. He slipped his hand under the material and ran his fingers over the taut skin, moaning softly and arching his back a little at the feel of the long needed contact, wishing that the touch wasn't his own. He gripped himself, biting his lip and furrowing his brow in concentration to stop himself losing it too quickly, annoyed at how close he was already; that's what he got for not doing anything for several weeks. He stroked loosely, slowly, running his thumb over the head and moaning quietly behind clenched teeth as he did. He squeezed at the base, hips jerking up into the increased pressure as the first division commander's name danced at the tip of his tongue, only repressed by his overbearing desire to be as silent as possible.

How would Marco sound in a situation like this? Would he be loud or quiet, or somewhere in the middle? From what Ace could gather he was a fairly chatty guy but didn't talk about the unnecessary things, like gossip, and always made his opinion on an issue known. And his voice, that voice that was cheerful and light until he suddenly got serious, and then it was... Ace tilted his head back and groaned, hand picking up pace and precome dribbling down his shaft as he remembered how Marco's tone had changed the first time he'd talked to him. It had gone lower, firmer than usual as he had bluntly given Ace the choice of joining properly or leaving to start anew... and it was _so fucking sexy_.

"Ahh... fuck..." he moaned breathily before he could stop himself, his free hand taking his left nipple in it's fingers and twisting it almost roughly, driving another spike of arousal through him. The soft sound of skin moving steadily against skin filled the small room, and Ace's quiet pants and occasional small moans were the only sounds that accompanied them; noise from the deck couldn't be heard that deep down into the gigantic ship, and no one was wandering the corridors in a drunken stupor yet.

His hips twitched up into his palm again as his other hand moved to his right nipple now, pinching and rubbing the hardened nub between the pads of his fingers. He bit back a cry, feeling his balls tightening as he got closer, his fist covered in precome now as it moved faster along his length. Through his haze of arousal he wondered if Marco ever executed vocal self control while he pleasured himself such as Ace was doing now; given that he didn't have to share a room with anyone he probably had less of a need to do so, but the thought of the Zoan user biting his lip until it bled to hold back his voice only fueled Ace's own arousal more.

His breath came out in short, sharp gasps and he threw his head back into the pillows as he released his nipple and cupped his balls instead, gripping them and twisting gently in time with his pumping fist. He ran his tongue over his dry lips as his hips drove into his hand mercilessly now, eyes closed to the body racking pleasure he was submitting himself to, wishing it wasn't himself who had worked him up to such a degree of arousal.

"Marco..."

The whispered name finished him off, drawing out fitful moans pressed against stubbornly clenched teeth as his back arched, coming hard and fast over his stomach and up his chest. He kept his hands moving until he was thoroughly spent, making sure to work every last drop out of his body before dropping his raised hips back on the bed heavily, sighing contently.

Ace's breathing started to slow down from the erratic beat it had set itself; he slipped his one still clean hand up into his messy black hair, playing with it absent-mindedly as he watched the dark ceiling from his top bunk, trying to calm his body down after his vigorous workout. Surprisingly, even though he knew he should have, Ace felt no shame in jerking off while thinking about his male nakama - even though the idea of such a thing had embarrassed the life out of him when Thatch had suggested it earlier, after actually doing it he couldn't bring himself to feel such a thing.

He smiled lazily at nothing in particular in the darkness, feeling pleasantly sated as he wiped his hand on the inside of his boxers. The teenager lay still for a few moments, body heavy and unwilling to move now as the prospect of sleep seemed far too friendly - he eventually hauled himself out of his bunk with a dramatic groan and stripped off the dirty underwear, cleaning his chest and stomach with them, pulling open his drawer in search of a clean pair. He would wash the used pair later... when he remembered a few weeks later, or when he put them on after mistaking them for a clean pair.


End file.
